fought to stop the Indo-Pakistani war from going nuclear. The Gal’s
skipper then had been Gerry Hawkins. What had he thought of his orders
at the time?
There were 150 men aboard the Typhoon out there, as opposed to thousands
aboard the Viraat. Their deaths might save tens of thousands, even
millions of lives if that PLARB could be killed before it loosed its
deadly arrow.
But submariners share a special bond, no matter what flag they sail
under. The shared experience of patrolling, month upon month, in the
cold and unyielding night of the oceans where the slightest mistake can
expose the entire crew to the implacable wrath of the submariner’s real
and constant enemy, the sea, somehow bypasses national boundaries, alien
cultures, and even politics.
But not loyalties. Never loyalties. The submariner’s devotion is to
his boat, his shipmates, and his captain; the captain’s devotions are to
his boat, his men, and to the trust invested in him by the government he
serves.
There was no question of disobeying those orders.
“Bow doors are open by hand, Captain,” the weapons officer announced.
“We are ready to fire.”
“Very well. Stand by.” He took his place at the search periscope.
“Let’s take her in nice and smooth, gentlemen.
Under the ice.”
1505 hours
Bear Station
Radio shack, U.S.S. Shiloh
“Admiral Tarrant, sir? This just came out of decoding.”
Tarrant accepted the flimsy from the communications officer, scanning it
quickly. It was from Admiral Scott, head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
In a few terse lines, it described Krasilnikov’s radio broadcast,
explained that the Russians were expected to launch a nuclear missile
into their own homeland at or about 1530 hours, and said that the U.S.S.
Galveston had been ordered to intercept and sink the Russian sub before
it could launch.
Tarrant glanced at his watch. Less than thirty minutes. This was bad,
very bad.
“Says here this broadcast from Moscow took place half an hour ago. Why
the hell didn’t we pick it up?”
“We got something, Admiral,” the communications officer replied.
“Recorded it. Intelligence’s got it now, but it might take a while to
translate.”
“God damn. The world could blow up around our ears while we’re trying
to translate a damned radio program. Okay.” He picked up a nearby
telephone handset and punched in a number.
“CIC”, a voice answered. “Officer of the Watch Wilkins speaking.”
“This is Admiral Tarrant. What’s our current defense posture?”
“Alert state three, Admiral.”
“Come to full alert. Pass the word to the rest of the battle force.”
“Yes, sir. Uh … what is it, Admiral? An attack?”
“Son, we’re just about to shove a stick square into the middle of a
hornets’ nest. Inside of thirty minutes, they’re gonna be coming at us
all out, and they’re going to be looking for blood.”
1510 hours
Control room/attack center
U.S.S. Galveston
“Control room, Sonar.”
“Captain here. Go ahead.”
“Ice-breaking noises now at zero-one-eight. No target motion.
Range now within forty thousand yards.”
“Very well. Helm, come right to zero-one-eight. Increase speed to ten
knots.”
“Steering right to zero-one-eight, increase speed to ten knots, aye,
sir.”
“Bring us up to two hundred feet.”
“Coming to two hundred feet, aye, sir.”
Montgomery did some fast calculations in his head. Extreme range for a
Mark 48 Advanced Capability torpedo running at its top speed setting of
fifty-five knots was seventeen and a half nautical miles, thirty-five
thousand yards. That would give it a running time of just under
nineteen minutes. He glanced at the clock on the attack center
bulkhead. Damn! If he launched right now, it would still be a
squeaker.
To delay longer would mean the torpedoes could not arrive until after
the 1530 hours deadline. Would the Russian boomer launch anyway as soon
as it heard the sound of the approaching ADCAP? That depended on its
orders. It was equally possible the Russians would break off their
missile run in order to maneuver. As long as they didn’t fire that
damned nuke …
“Weapons officer!”
“Weapons, aye.”
“Fire one.”
Lieutenant Villiers slapped the heel of his hand across a red button on
the torpedo firing console in front of him. A green light shifted from